Another One of These?

All I wish to know is if you really let me go or if the twisting was so tight and the conditions were just right to make extraction wholly futile – this, assuming that at sight there will be some sort of reaction, catalyst, trigger, whatever. It would just be helpful to know if being forgetful would in this instance be better than a thousand nights of remembering that there is something out there breathing which could sway the hearts of heathens to be monks somewhere in France. We used to dance in sweat soaked pants, too slippery to hold hands but every step was perfect snare, each flailing limb struck through the air in perfect punctuating beats that rumbled in through shoes then feet and up to your hard heavy hips, swerving then pausing at skips and withheld drops and calls to stop from djs when we want to rock each fucking second harder still. It was the music, you, the thrill of flashing bouncing smoking stoned and winding up safe at your home. I craved you like a cigarette. I loved you raised twice to the nth degree of perfect symmetry that can’t be found in anybody but you you you you you oh you. Hair and sweat and legs and dew.

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One Response to “Another One of These?”

Tango with me across foreign beaches- toes gripping fields of fallen doubt. Steal me away from confined airport terminals and uncertain routes of change. I want the ceilings to all be tall enough for you and your wait in Terminal Z to be over, hope for me to meet you there under tress with palm leaves and azul seas. Stingrays pass over an open, repentant paper with holes punched in it to represent sloppy stars. They do matter not a bit because I found you a sharpie and markers and you can paint us geometric, spacial scenes while we lay in my bed smoking green leaves and touching just enough to be satisfactory. When I turn out the lights and my face is just black and blue shadows and your eyes glisten in the light from the streetlights outside we will be happy. Happy in the dark with a buzz in the silence with just soft skin and slightly wet lips touching because it feels like home. I will share a cigarette with you in any weather as long as I can stare at you and smirk because I like so much what I see.

When you turn your fan on, I’ll grip my toes in that sand and wrap my legs around yours- the dark creating a kind of silence that only we can have. A street-lit romance that strives to just fit.